


The Crow: Digital Domain

by Tsubasa_Hane



Category: Digimon Tamers, The Crow
Genre: Alternate Universe, Disturbing Themes, F/M, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 04:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16422671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsubasa_Hane/pseuds/Tsubasa_Hane
Summary: One year after Akiyama Ryo and his loved ones were brutally murdered at the hands of the Yamaki clan, his restless soul has been given a chance to avenge their deaths...and, along the way, discover a new reason to live.





	1. Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted Mar 4, 2010 on FanFiction.net. It has been copied and pasted here with no changes beyond a few formatting alterations to accomodate AO3.
> 
> Unlike most of my other works...this one is incomplete.
> 
> I no longer remember exactly why I chose to drop the story. I do occasionally go back and reread it for my own personal amusement. I think I even still have some of the outline notes buried deep in my hard drive. The main reason why I'm posting it here, now, is because there is still a chance that I may one day return to it.
> 
> After all, THE CROW is my favorite (Halloween) movie. And I do so love a good crossover.

" _Come back here, Shuichon!"_

_Children laughing._

" _Ne, ne, I'm telling!"_

" _No, you're not." Hurried footsteps across the wooden floor. A squeal. "Gotcha! You know you can't outrun us."_

" _Mama! Mama!"_

" _Children, please." A motherly voice. Stern, but somewhat amused. Smiling. "My goodness, you'd think we lived in a zoo."_

_More laughter. More squeals._

" _Ne, ne, Ryo-nii-san! Save me!"_

_A snicker. "Who's side do you think I'm on?"_

" _Traitor!" But the words were spoken amidst a fit of giggles._

" _Boys," A second voice from the kitchen. Male. "Torturing the witness can wait. Dinner's almost ready. Go help Akiyama-san set the table."_

" _Yes, sir."_

" _Okay, Papa."_

_A close, loving environment. One meant to be shared with friends and neighbors._

_The sound of ceramic being placed upon a cushioned wooden surface. A tiny body plopping down on the softest cushion. The smell of home-cooking, mixed with warmth from a small fire lit in the corner of the room. Rain mutely pounding against the shut windows._

_Then, without warning—_

_A crash._

_A scream._

_Gunfire._

* * *

* * *

**1 year later...**

 

Somewhere in the distance, the hour rang midnight.

A single crow circled the blackened skies, letting out a piercing cry that reverberated off the rows of cold, marble headstones below. It sensed a restless soul within these grounds—one who had been so terribly wronged in Life, and would never find peace in Death until it could seek restitution. Swooping down, the winged creature came to a perch atop the grave marker and waited.

Moments later, a hand broke through the softened topsoil. The crow gave a series of loud  _caw_ s, as if to guide the soul back to the living world, while the rest of the figure slowly pulled itself to the surface. A young man, no more than 19 years at his premature demise. He gasped for air, desperate to keep the dust and mud from his lungs, and soon found oxygen. In time, he successfully pulled himself to a low kneeling position atop his grave and paused to catch his breath.

Dirt was streaked across every last inch of his skin and hair, both soaked with sweat. His clothes—the ones he had been buried in—were soiled and torn beyond recognition, leaving several parts of his toned, muscular frame exposed to the elements. The evening was cool, but he felt no physical discomfort. No pain.

He sat up, eyes blinking into focus, and the first thing he saw was his own name carved into the tombstone:

 _Akiyama Ryo_  
1990 - 2009  
Beloved Son and Friend

His fingers lightly traced over the words, as if to make sure he were not hallucinating.

The crow called for his attention, and he turned to see it perched upon an adjacent stone. This one bore the name of his father. He looked just beyond, where he caught a glimpse of a double-grave that held the Lee family patriarch and matriarch. But only when he saw its neighbor, the final resting place of his childhood friend, Jenrya, did the tears fall.

Leaning back, he lifted his head to the sky and gave a loud cry. One that told of unimaginable pain and sorrow. The skies responded in kind, clouds opening to release a heavy fall of rain upon the earth.

* * *

The streets were vacant, like the entire neighborhood had been completely abandoned. Or forsaken. Rain continued to pound unforgivingly against the sidewalks, where dirt and ash blended together in streaks of black and grey. Broken glass from windows littered the pavement, and though some of the lower floors had been partially boarded, most of the higher windows remained exposed.

His old apartment building was in no better condition. When the door wouldn't open—it looked to him as if the locks had rusted over—he reached for one of the planks nailed over the nearest window and yanked it off with surprising ease. The hole beneath it was just large enough for him to squeeze through, so he casted the piece of wood aside and climbed in.

Dust coated nearly every inch of the hallway, indicating that no one had been there in some time. Most of the bulbs had burnt out, leaving only the dim light streaking through the windows to guide him. He traipsed up the stairs, the wood beneath his heels creaking beneath his weight. The third floor was even darker, to the degree where he had to graze his fingers over the numbers of the doors to read them.

Eventually, he came across the number he was looking for. 311. Where the Lee family had lived...and died

Where  _he_  had died.

Pushing the door open, he stumbled inside. There was little remaining in the tiny two-bedroom apartment. What hadn't been confiscated by the police or the government had most likely been looted by desperate neighbors. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he was soon able to make out the faint chalk outlines of four bodies on the living room floor. Each coated in a thin layer of dried blood.

Inhaling sharply, he turned away and collapsed onto the couch—one of the few remaining pieces of furniture—as a wave of mental images assaulted his senses.

* * *

* * *

_The door opened to reveal a smiling Shuichon sitting on the couch. Once she saw who it was, she instantly jumped up and ran over to embrace him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, almost knocking him to the ground._

" _Hiya, kiddo." He grinned down at her._

" _Jen-nii-chan, Ryo-nii-san's here!" She cried out._

" _I'm coming, I'm coming." Jenrya appeared from the kitchen, flecks of water clearly visible on his dark green jacket. "You know, sometimes I think Shuichon likes you more than me."_

_The energetic ten-year-old stuck her tongue out playfully. "I do."_

" _Well, that answers that." Ryo grinned and knelt down to pick Shuichon up. She gave a cry of surprise at the action, but wrapped her arms around his neck happily. "Come, you. We have a biological brother of yours to make jealous."_

* * *

* * *

Shuichon.

She had been there that fateful night, when the yakuza had come bursting through the door...yet, for all he had searched. Ryo hadn't been able to find her name on any of the nearby graves back at the cemetery. What had happened to the little girl he once loved like she were his own sister? Was she still alive?

A faint gasp escaped into the air, and Ryo lifted his head to glance over the couch armrest. Standing in the open doorway was a solitary figure staring directly at him. He had to squint for a moment to get a better look in the dark, but soon shot up with a start upon recognizing Shuichon's petite frame.

"Ryo?" The girl called out hesitantly. "Is that you?"

"S-Shuichon?"

"I...saw you go through the window." She explained. Her voice sounded oddly distant. "Nobody ever comes here anymore, so I was curious. I followed you."

A genuine smile appeared on his face, and he stood up to great her. "Shu—"

When he approached, however, she recoiled back. Almost instinctively. He froze on the spot, smile rapidly fading. For a fleeting moment, he thought it was simply the surprise of seeing someone she had thought dead...but the longer he looked, the more that wasn't the case. She was fearful, yes, but not of him. Of what he was: a man.

The picture grew clearer in his mind with every subtle jerk of her head, the way her eyes darted back and forth in a cloud of perpetual suspicion. How she retreated into herself the instant he had tried to approach. All the physical signs were there, each one eating away at his aching heart.

They hadn't killed her—what those men had done to his precious little Shuichon was even worse. Her innocence was lost, spirit forever broken.

"Are you an Angel?" She suddenly asked him.

"Huh?" He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well...you're dead, Ryo-nii-san." She explained simply, sounding eerily unfazed by that particular fact. "You died with Jen-nii-chan when the bad men were hurting me. The doctors told me. So, are you?"

He stared after her, uncertain. "I...don't know."

"Are you here to make the bad men go away?"

He thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

Shuichon stepped forward and grabbed his hand. "Come on, then."

She pulled him into one of the apartment's bedrooms—the one she used to share with Jenrya—and sat him down on the bottom bunk. He watched with mild curiosity as she shuffled through mostly empty drawers for a few moments before coming across a small pile of clothes that hadn't been taken. Pulling out a pair of black leather pats and a black t-shirt, she handed them both to him.

"Change," she ordered.

He obeyed without a single question, politely stepping into the hallway bathroom to do so. His tattered garments were thrown on the floor and immediately forgotten as he slipped into the musty, yet clean set of clothing. They had, no doubt, once belonged to Jenrya—a thought that came with a small pang of sadness—yet fit him surprisingly well. The pants were just loose enough to be comfortable, while the cotton fabric of the shirt clung to his well-toned chest like a second skin.

Once he was dressed, Ryo paused briefly to stare at himself in the mirror. The rain had washed away most of the dirt, but it had also left his brown hair to fall limply over his eyes. He always used to spike it with a little gel, but saw no reason to do so any longer.

Shuichon was absently shifting through a bag of old makeup when he returned to the room.

"Sit."

He did.

After a few more seconds of riffling, she apparently found what she had been looking for: a jar of white face-paint, probably left over from some old party costume. She twisted the cover off and immediately set to work smearing a thin layer of the creamy foundation over his face. Once she was finished with that, she grabbed a tube of black lipstick and outlined both his eyes and lips.

Not finding it in himself to protest, Ryo sat quietly in wait. He could feel the cold, waxy substance taking shape over his whitened features, twisting his lips into a deranged smile while black, vertical lines over his eyes gave the illusion of tears.

"There," Shuichon stepped back when she was finished. "Now you look the part."

He took that as an invitation to inspect her handiwork. There was a nearby vanity table in one corner, and after a few strokes of his arm to remove some of the grime that covered it, he stared at the sinister image reflected on the glassy surface.

She was right: the face he now wore was that of an Angel. An Angel of Vengeance.

A slight shift in wind alerted him to the sudden reappearance of the crow that had led him out of the grave. It came to a perch atop the vanity mirror. He glanced up, meeting its ominous gaze. The corners of his lips twisted into a malicious grin, further enhanced by the paint.

Behind him, Shuichon was reaching into the closet to retrieve her brother's long, black trench coat. She pulled it from the hanger with a single, sharp tug, then folded it over her arm to bring it over to him.

"What will you do now, Ryo-nii-san?" She asked softly.

"What I was brought back to this world to do," he stated, first looking to her then at his new familiar. "Make Yamaki pay for what he did to us."

* * *

It was raining that night—but, then again, that wasn't really saying much because it rained all the time in Shinjuku.

17-year-old Makino Ruki pulled the hood of her jacket a little further over her eyes to shield herself, but otherwise paid the weather little heed. She no longer cared that her jeans were thoroughly soaked, the dark material appearing almost black, or that both her thin, grey jacket and the white t-shirt beneath it clung to her skin.

Nor did she really care when the district's resident street scum sent her their usual means of approval at her appearance. The whistles and lewd cat-calls hardly phased her any more; when one of them went as far as to note how she was beginning to resemble her infamous mother, the hostess Rumiko, she simply cranked up the volume of her walkman and continued on without a glance backward. Any vocal protests on her part would only encourage them.

By the time she reached her intended destination, it was just after one in the morning: a dingy, little bar, hidden in the alleyway of one of the Red Light back-roads. The sign hanging just above was in desperate need of repairs, the door looked like it had seen one too many beat-downs over the years, and a notice in the filthy window clearly expressed the desire for all individuals not yet of age to stay out.

Ruki walked right in without hesitation.

Once she was inside, she threw back her hood and gave a quick scan of the room. A slight frown appeared when she spotted her mother, draped all over one of the Yamaki clan's henchman. Ruki couldn't tell if the woman was drunk, high, or both...but at least she was somewhat decently dressed that night. The last time, she had found her passed out on the floor, in nothing but a mini-skirt and low-cut bra. Tonight saw her in a tight, red dress that, while sporting an extremely low neckline, fell past her knees in length.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Ruki pulled the earbuds from her ears and tucked them into her pocket before making her way across the room. The usual crowd seemed to be gathered that evening as well. A sweep of the room revealed an assortment of drunken "businessmen", drug addicts, and their scantily-clad female companions. Most were such regular patrons that Ruki could identify them by name. Alternative music blared from the room's speakers, mostly rock or metal. The scent of alcohol and marijuana was as pungent as ever, mixed with a blend of heavy sweat and sex.

She tried desperately not to vomit all over the floor at the thought, knowing that her best friend would likely be the one to have to clean it up.

As the daughter of the bar's owners, Juri regularly pitched in to help out when other waitresses called in sick. That night was no exception, as Ruki found her dressed in the usual work attire of black shorts and a white scoop-neck tank top. She was serving a few mugs at one of the back corner tables, finishing up the last of her shift. Yet, it was with a warm smile and patient tone that Juri rattled off the completed order to her two customers.

The 16-year-old was about as opposite of the typical Shinjuku lifestyle as one would come to expect. Her parents—or, to be more specific, her father and step-mother—had less than upstanding reputations, and doted more on their customers than their children. Juri, on the other hand, had somehow grown into a sweet, gentle girl who was always looking out for others. She wasn't bad to look at, either, making her one of the favorites among many of the bar's patrons.

"Hey, Juri!" Ruki called out to her with a wave.

Juri looked up upon hearing her name, but so did the two she had been serving; Ruki recognized them instantly as Hirokazu (who often went by the nickname 'Kazu') and Kenta, errand boys of the local yakuza. They couldn't have been any older than she, though no place in Shinjuku would ever dare refuse them service with their ties to the Yamaki clan.

"Well, well," Hirokazu—the self-proclaimed 'tougher' of the pair—gave a lecherous smirk as he took in her rain-soaked appearance. "You're looking particularly good this evening, Ruki."

"Get bent, Kazu."

"I'd much rather see you in that position, if you know what I mean."

Ruki's eyes narrowed dangerously. It was hardly a secret that the boy had been trying to get into her pants ever since he hit puberty, and his recent attempts had grown more audacious than ever. Unlike the Shinjuku street scum, however, Hirokazu refused to be ignored.

Fortunately, Juri chose that moment to step in: "Ruki, please. He's not worth it."

"Damn right, he's not," she muttered darkly, sending one last scathing glance in the boy's direction before storming off towards the back room. "Come on, Juri."

The two quickly retreated to one of the vacant couches along the wall. It was extremely filthy, with the leather covers having been worn to the point where stuffing stuck out along the edges, but it was better than some of the alternatives.

Juri plopped down onto one of the cushions wish a sigh, wiping the sweat from her brow. She reached up to loosen her hair from its high ponytail, allowing the damp locks to fall freely down her back. Ruki joined her a moment later, frowning when she noticed the deep circles beneath her friend's eyes.

"How's business been?" she asked

"Okay, I suppose." Juri forced a smile. "I pulled in nearly two-hundred today."

Ruki's frown only deepened. "Yeah, but working how many hours?"

"Not too many."

"Bull," Ruki called the girl's bluff easily, sighing. "Juri, you're gonna end up killing yourself from exhaustion. It's not worth it."

"It's not a bad job. Really." Juri looked away. "I mean, the chefs cook for me whenever I want, and my parents let me keep all the tips I receive."

"It's degrading."

"It's...all I have."

Ruki heaved a sigh, leaning back in her seat. The leather beneath her creaked from the shift in weight, though the sound was easily drowned out by the heavy base-line pulsating through the air. She couldn't argue; the bar pretty much  _was_  all Juri had. She had grown up in the abominable atmosphere, leaving a permanent stigma on her reputation.

On the rare occasions when she attended school anymore, Juri would generally find herself on the wrong end of her peer's wrath. Those who hadn't been told by their ignorant parents to stay away from her would make constant snide remarks about how she was such a bad influence. Part of the wrong crowd. They used to say worse things, before Ruki proved that a suspension was totally worth the price of punching out anyone who dared.

"I heard from Takato today," Ruki spoke up, deliberately changing the subject.

Juri's cheeks flushed. "You...did?"

"He misses you," she stated bluntly. "He wishes you would just leave this place and go be with him. For Christ's sake, Juri, the boy wants to  _live_  with you!"

"But...his parents hate me." Juri's shoulders slumped from genuine sadness.

"That's 'cause they don't know you," Ruki insisted.

"It doesn't matter, anyway, Ruki. You know why I can't leave."

Ruki fell silent, lips pressing together into a tight line. She did know.

As if on cue, a tiny voice called from the nearby doorway: "Nee-chan?"

The two girls looked over to see Juri's 6-year-old little brother, a blanket clutched tightly to his chest. With his free hand, he rubbed at his eyes.

"Oh, Masahiko!" Juri was at his side instantly, kneeling down with a gentle smile. "Honey, what are you doing out of bed?" She smoothed a rogue strand of hair back as she spoke.

"Somebody broke the window. It woke me up."

"What window?" Ruki asked.

Masahiko looked at her, as if only then realizing she was there. His face scrunched up for a moment, even though Ruki came by so often that he knew it was okay to talk to her. She could be a little scary at times, but she was his big sister's best friend and that automatically made her a good person.

"The one 'cross the street," he told her. "People were yellin' and stuff, too. Bad stuff."

The girls shared a nervous look over Masahiko's head, but tried to hide it from him. There was no use in worrying the poor boy over a hunch.

Instead, Juri leaned forward and wrapped him in a hug. "I'm sorry they woke you. Do you want me to tuck you back in?"

Masahiko nodded, and Ruki had to resist the urge to smile at the scene.

Juri had practically raised the little boy herself since the day he was born, even though she had only been nine at the time and he was only her half-brother. While the Katous were hardly the most neglectful parents around, it was often Juri who had seen to the little nuances of caregiving, such as storytelling and playtime. On more than one occasion, she had also made sure the boy was properly fed and went to sleep at a decent hour.

Hell, Ruki wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest if, one day, Masahiko started calling her 'Mama'.

"Come on," Juri reached for the boy's hand and turned to leave. "I'll be right back, Ru—"

The front door slammed open, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Even those who were obscenely drunk froze in a mixture of awe and terror as a crowd of tall, burly men entered. They glanced around, surveying the scene before them with watchful eyes. A few very obviously liked certain vantage points, but said nothing on the matter.

Above, a new song began to play. Heavy metal, with a pounding drum and screaming lead vocalist. One of the men seemed to take offense to this, unabashedly pulling out a .45 and sending a bullet directly into the speakers. There were screams and the sound of metal frying as sparks flew to the ground. Then all went silent.

After a brief pause, the men nodded to themselves and parted, revealing a surprisingly clean-shaven blonde dressed in a pristine manner. But his smile was as oily as his slicked-back hair as he peered at the room over the top of his sunglasses.

Ruki's grip on the armrest tightened as she recognized him; subconsciously, Juri pulled her little brother closer to her.

"I'm looking for the owners," the man stated, addressing the room as a whole. "Got some business to talk. They around?"

A drunken woman stumbled forward, torn between bursting into a fit of laughter and passing clean out on the ground. "M' husband runs the place. What c'n I do for a fine gentleman such as yourselves?"

The man gave her a good once-over. She was somewhat decently dressed for the nightlife, despite her more mature age. A modestly cut v-neck black dress clung to her like a second skin (which wasn't saying much, given that the skin beneath it was thin and gaunt), falling just past mid-thigh into a wave of shredded fabric. Her hair was piled up into a high bun, and she had on surprisingly little makeup—unfortunately, most of it had smeared over the course of the night.

"Where's your husband, Katou-san?" he inquired.

She shrugged wildly. "Dunno. Sorry, but he's gotta be around here somewheres." A grin. "Anythin' I c'n do t' help?" She staggered forward, practically throwing herself against the man's three-piece suit. A finger lightly trailed down the front of his jacket.

The man's expression remained blank as he lifted a hand and slapped her away, sending her sprawling to the ground.

"Fuck off, wench." Ignoring her weary moans of pain from having struck her head against a chair leg, he straightened his suit and continued on, "Once more, I'm looking for the owner. He's got three seconds to come out before my boys here turn this place into their new hunting ground."

To emphasize his point, they simultaneously cocked their guns.

"Three...two..."

"Oh, call off your dogs, Yamaki." A burly man stepped out of the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. He didn't seem particular disturbed by the recent turn of events, including his wife's current state. "The fuck you want now?"

Yamaki gave a charming grin. "You know what I want. Same thing as ever: to go into business with you."

"I told ya once, and I'll tell ya a thousand times more." He grunted. "I ain't selling, and I ain't in no mood to go into 'business' with ya. I could give two shits if you and your boys wanna turn this place into your new favorite hangout...hell, I don't care if you bring your guns! But this income's all I got."

Yamaki shook his head lightly. "That's your problem, geezer: you lack vision. This place has the potential to become one of the greatest hot-spots in the better part of Shinjuku."

"You mean strip club," the man snapped. "And I ain't into that shit."

"You're already halfway there." Yamaki gestured around the room. "We all know damn well what goes on after hours. Might as well be getting' in on the profit of it all, don't you think?"

"I got kids, y'know," he replied defensively.

Yamaki's eyes instantly traveled over to where a very pale Juri still clung tightly to her little brother. As he got a better look, his grin only widened.

The room was still as he polished shoes echoed off the hardwood floor, each step slow and deliberate. His men chose not to follow, but watched the scene unraveling before them with identical smirks. Juri was frozen to the spot, unable to move—even as the man walked right up to her, reached out to tilt her chin up, and lightly turned her head from side to side. Inspecting her, like she were nothing more than a piece of meat on display.

"Juri...was it?" She gave a shudder as her name slithered from his lips. Clearly, he'd remembered her. "My, my, how you've grown. I remember when you were still a chubby little thing clinging to the hems of your late mother's skirts."

Our of fear, Juri said nothing.

"You've got quite the little lady here, Katou." Yamaki called back over his shoulder. "You should be proud. Why, with a little training, a little time, I could even see her making a fine addition to those under my... _employment_."

Something inside Ruki snapped, and she shot up from her seat: "You get your filthy, fucking hands off her right now!"

Yamaki looked surprised at the sudden outburst, but quickly regained his composure. He did let go of Juri, if only so he could turn his attention to the red-haired girl before him. Removing his sunglasses, he raised an eyebrow in approval as he took in her wet clothes and the resemblance to her mother.

"Fiery thing, aren't you?" He chuckled lightly. "I'd be careful if I were you, little girl. Never know when that temper of yours might get you into trouble."

Ruki openly scoffed. "Gotta do better than that. I've heard scarier threats from the bums in the park."

Oh, Yamaki  _liked_  this one! "What's your name?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I asked nicely."

"You forgot to say 'please'." She shot back dryly, folding her arms over her chest. Normally, it didn't bother her when perverted, old men stared...but something about this guy just felt plain  _wrong_.

"Hey!" One of Yamaki's men called out to her menacingly. The hand holding his gun twitched. "The fuck do you think you are, taking to the Boss like that?"

"No, no. It's alright." Yamaki held up a hand to calm the man, never once taking his eyes off Ruki. "I'll remember you, little fiery one. Count on that."

"I'm flattered," was her sarcastic remark.

Yamaki held up a hand and snapped his fingers; his lackeys abruptly holstered their guns and turned to leave without question.

"Don't forget, Katou-san" he called to the owner as he passed. "Offer's still on the table. And I don't give open offers to just anyone."

Juri's father gave a loud huff, but said nothing.

It wasn't until long after Yamaki's group had gone that Juri let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her shoulders slumped from both physical and emotional strain. Around her, the room slowly began to stir, nobody sure if they should continue partying or move on to other establishments of equal or lesser reputation.

"You okay, Juri?" Ruki asked, a picture of calm as she moving to her friend's side.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine." The girl answered, despite being visibly shaken.

"Whoo-ho-ho!" Hirokazu slipped in between the two, giving a low whistle of approval. "I knew you were tough, but that was impressive, Ruki. Standing up to the Boss-man like that..." He slung an arm around her shoulder. "I gotta say, I am  _incredibly_  turned on right now."

"Then go buy a hooker like all the others." Ruki rolled her eyes, shoving him off. "Never gonna happen."

"You say that now, babe, but—"

"Come on, Kazu." Kenta—the obviously smarter of the two, in Ruki's opinion—stumbled forward. "Let's blow this joint. I'm fuckin' bored."

Hirokazu sent one last leer Ruki's way. "Like the boss says, offer's still on the table."

"Yeah, only you'll give  _that_  offer to anything in a skirt."

Kazu looked as if he were to make some smart comeback, but his drunken partner started tugging harder on his sleeve. "Yeah, yeah. 'Till next we meet, Ruki."

When his back was turned, Ruki made a show of shivering violently, brushing at every inch of her jacket in vain attempts at ridding herself of the boy's lingering presence. She twisted her face into a series of ridiculous expressions, earning a giggle from Masahiko once he peeked out from behind his sister's leg. Even Juri couldn't resist smiling.

"Guh. Now I'll be having nightmares for a week," Ruki stated, turning to her best friend with a smirk. "And on that note, let's get Masahiko here back to bed, what do you say?"

* * *

Around 2:30, Ruki found herself back on the street, heading for home.

For the moment, it had ceased raining, though the air was still thick with humidity. Her hood had fallen back to where it hooked onto her ponytail, clothes dry enough for her to leave the jacket partially unzipped. She wandered down a few of the back alleyways, hoping to avoid any massive puddles. The neighborhood wasn't exactly the best, but it was far the worst, either, so she had few problems with deviating from the main road.

Roughly two blocks from her apartment, she heard the sounds of someone drunkenly moaning in the shadows. She rolled her eyes, figuring it was just a random squatter, and proceeded to exude an aura of total apathy. The street bums tended to leave her alone once they realized she could give two shits that they were there.

"Hey, Ruuuuuki!" a slurred voice called out to her. "I din know you lived 'n this part o' town."

She froze, closing her eyes as a low groan escaped her lips. It was Hirokazu. Just great.

"Ruki! Yo, I'm talkin' to you, 'ere!"

He was alone, she mentally assessed. There were no signs of anyone else in the area. Kenta had probably passed out in some sleazy nightclub during their escapades, and being the good friend he was, Hirokazu had just left him there.

" _Hey, Ruki!_ " She felt a hand on her shoulder, roughly spinning her around before she could shrug it off. His eyes narrowed at her as he leaned in, the scent of beer heavy on his breath. "I said...I was talking to you."

"And I was ignoring you," she replied back, pushing his hand away. "Now go home and sleep it off."

He grinned. "Sounds like a plan. Care to join me?"

"Not for all the gold in Japan."

Any other time, Hirokazu would have simply shrugged off her rejection with a smirk and witty comeback. It was like he got some sort of perverted thrill at getting her riled up, since he seemed to enjoy doing so often. But he had been heavily drinking the last few hours, the booze warping his brain into a dark haze of anger. Rather than laugh away the situation, he frowned at what he now perceived to be an inexcusable lack of respect.

"Y'know," he took a step forward. "I think I've had just 'bout enough of your attitude. You do know who my boss is, right?"

"Yeah. If I recall correctly, I told him off this evening," she reminded him.

"Wrong." Another step. "He decided to show you some mercy. 'Cause that's the kind of guy he is." Then another. "I, however, am not feeling so generous anymore."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be a threat?"

"No. This is."

With a strength Ruki hadn't realized he possessed, he grabbed her by the jacket and slammed her up against the wall. It was enough force to roughly slam the back of her head into the rough concrete, leaving her momentarily disoriented.

Before she even had a chance to recover, he pressed his body tightly against hers. One hand moved to unzip the rest of her jacket, the other holding her wrists behind her. His face was a mere inches from hers now, every breath an assault on her nostrils. Her head swam, but though she struggled fiercely against him, he only smirked harder.

"Get the fuck off me!" she hissed.

She tried to twist herself free, but the way he'd grabbed her wrists was too awkward, making it difficult for her to move without sending a sharp pain up her arm. She could feel his eyes leering down her shirt, which was still partially transparent from all the moisture. The baby blue bra she had on underneath was easily visible, and he was  _easily_  enjoying the view.

"You should feel honored, Ruki," he murmured into her ear, one finger reaching beneath her collar to toy with the strap. "All the 'offers' and I still chose you..."

He was barely coherent, but the underlying meaning behind his words was all too clear.

She tried to scream, only to have him cover her mouth with his grimy hands. They wreaked of sweat and vomit, causing a wave of nausea at the pit of her stomach. Her eyes widened as he leaned in close and began to lightly kiss her earlobe. He was pressed to sightly against her now that she could feel his arousal pressing into her hip. Hard.

Again, she struggled, her cries of protest muted. But he was deceptively strong...and for the first time, she began to wonder if he had been been holding back all this time.

One of his fingers reached for the hem of her jeans, lightly trailing over the spot where denim met bare skin.

_Please, no...no! Someone help me, please!_

Suddenly, just as Hirokazu was about to work her pants zipper, there was a gust of wind...

..and Ruki was free from her lecherous clutches.

Her whole body trembled violently as her legs gave out beneath her, sliding her back down the cement wall until she all but collapsed on the ground. She thought she would faint any moment; her head still spun from where Hirokazu had hit it earlier, the blood pounding in her ears. Struggling to catch her breath, Ruki forced A tall, dark figure had pinned her potential rapist against the opposite wall by means of a single hand wrapped around his throat, feet dangling helplessly over the ground.

"I see you yakuza scum haven't changed." The figure—a boy—spoke. She knew his tone was meant to be cold, but something about his voice sounded oddly soothing to her ears. "Nice to know you can always count on that much."

"Who—" Hirokazu tried to speak, but was cut off as more pressure was applied to his windpipe.

"A face from your Boss's past. That's all you need to know." He dropped the boy unceremoniously on the ground, leaving him to gasp for air, then slowly turned to face her.

Through slightly blurred vision, Ruki looked up in time to see her savior's face come into view beneath the dim moonlight. He had painted it in what was obviously meant to be a terrifying mask—lips twisted into a deranged smile, while his eyes cried black tears. She pressed her back a little further into the wall as he approached, lightly gasping when he knelt down before her.

"Hey," he called to her gently. "You okay?"

Not trusting her own voice at the moment, she swallowed inaudibly and nodded.

The strangest thing happened then: he smiled at her. A smile of genuine relief that she was unharmed. In that fleeting moment, Ruki saw a glimpse of the boy behind the mask...of the eyes that seemed to sparkle with concern, softening into a look that suddenly seemed so...so  _kind_. Something she hadn't experienced in a long time. Especially from a complete stranger.

"Why...did you save me?" she found herself asking

"Because you needed saving."

It was such a simple explanation, she was left speechless.

He seemed to take her silence in jest, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. She stared up at him with a mixture of fear and awe, not caring if she was obvious or not, and moved to accept...when a flicker of movement behind him made her gasp:

"Look out!"

He turned around just in time to be met with a knife plunging into his chest, Hirokazu's hands grabbing the hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white. Blood poured freely from the wound as he twisted it further, either oblivious or apathetic to the flecks of crimson splattering across his face.

Ruki's hands flew to her mouth in horror, vainly trying to hold back her screams

The boy twitched, his muscles erupting into a brief series of spasms from the shock, before falling still.

A second later, his head shot up; grabbing the knife his his chest by the hilt, he ripped it out and drove it into an unsuspecting Hirokazu. The yakuza lackey barely had time to register what had happened to him before he fell back, dead.

Ruki felt the blood drain from her face as the stranger stepped back, seemingly unaffected by the gaping hole where his heart should have been. The blade had gone so far as to slice through his ribcage, pieces of bone sticking out amidst the heavy flow of blood. She thought she would be sick just looking at it...but he simply held a hand to his chest, more out of a sick fascination than pain. Like he didn't even feel it.

"Oh, my God," Ruki murmured, struggling to her feet. Every inch of her felt numb, like she was running on autopilot. "We...we need to get you to a hospital. We need to...to..."

But she trailed off as she realized the wound had already begun to heal itself; within seconds, there was nothing more than smooth, unmarked flesh beneath the torn shirt.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed, stumbling back in shock. Her eyes met with his. "W-what are you?"

His expression was eerily neutral as he turned and answered, "An Angel."

"Angel?" Ruki's brows furrowed together in confusion. "I don't—"

The sudden cry of a bird interrupted her mid-sentence. She jumped, startled, and turned her head in time to catch a small, black crow take flight. The ominous creature hovered in the air for a brief time before disappearing into the darkness of the night sky.

Curious, she turned back to her mysterious savior...and was met with an empty spot where he had stood.


	2. Remembrance

An unnecessarily loud of clap of thunder jolted Ruki awake, eliciting a gasp of surprise as she shot straight up in bed. Her eyes glanced over at the alarm clock by her bedside; the glowing red letters revealed it to be just shy of nine in the morning. Moaning softly, she threw herself roughly back into her pillow, one arm over her eyes in a vain attempt to stave off consciousness for even a few more minutes.

In retaliation, the sky let loose with an even fiercer roar than before.

"Alright, alright," she mumbled darkly to the sadistic sky gods. "You win. I'm up."

Less than five hours—sadly enough, still the most sleep she'd managed to pull in weeks. Shinjuku nights seemed to grow shorter and shorter, and though there was nothing in particular she ever had to do (no job, few friends, a mother who defined 'curfew' as a date on the calender), it seemed she was spending more of her time avoiding sleep. It was only through some miracle of genetics that she was able to keep the tell-tale dark circles at bay, though even they could not hide the deep lines in the areas where her lower lids met her cheeks.

Despite her declaration, in that fleeting moment where her mind lingered between the haze of leftover dreams, she procrastinated any semblance of movement in favor of reminiscing about the previous night. It all seemed too surreal to have happened, and for a time, she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. A mysterious stranger who, odd face paint aside, was fairly pleasing to the eyes? One who saved her from a drunken racist simply because she'd "needed saving"? She could've easily mistaken him as the hero of one of Juri's trashy romance novels she liked to read during her break...except for the part where he'd also survived a knife wound  _to the chest_  before turning on his would-be murderer.

Fuck. It had to be real. There was no way her imagination was that vivid.

Another streak of lightning, and Ruki took that as her cue to finally haul her ass out of bed. The rain hadn't started yet, but she could already feel the early morning humidity cling to her pajamas. Strands of hair clung to her face and neck, and even as she brushed them away, the sticky smell of sweat and dew remained. Desperately in need of a shower, she headed for the nearest pile of clean laundry.

Along the way, her eyes fell to the small pile in one corner; her clothes from last night had been tossed into a rumpled heap, soaking wet and stained with flecks of blood.

What was she even supposed to do now? Knowing what she knew (and what she didn't), seeing what she'd seen (and still couldn't believe)? Precious sleeping time had already been wasted speaking to that idiot cop who'd responded to the scene. She'd answered everything he'd cared to ask with as much truth as she could comprehend at the time while simultaneously trying to keep his attention on taking her statement rather than ogling her wet chest.

(Hell, she could've confessed to murdering Hirokazu in cold blood herself, and the guy would've probably just smiled and wished her a pleasant night before heading back to the station to write up some half-assed report that would've promptly gotten lost in the wrong file anyway. Fucking Shinjuku cops.)

She could still picture her mysterious savior's face so vividly. Even then, stumbling around the room like a blind drunk, her mind's eye could see ever last detail, from the tiny glimmer in his eyes...those inky pools peering out from beneath dark, messy bangs and contrasting face paint...his black-lined, cocky smirk that told of an exhilarating confidence and ridiculously perfect teeth...that familiar, soft-spoken baritone as he...

Wait.

_Familiar?_

Where had that come from?

She paused mid-step, eyes turning to the ceiling with a frown as she searched her memories. There was no doubt in her mind that she'd never seen the guy before, with or without the makeup. She would certainly remember someone painted up in such a manner, and even if she'd ever met him without it, it would've been difficult to recognize him in the heat of it all. Yet, she couldn't shake that strange, nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach insisting that she somehow  _knew_  him. Knew his smirk. His breathtaking gaze. What wa obviously a well-toned physique beneath those dark, tight-fitting clothes.

"Damn hormones," she hissed, shaking her head to clear her thoughts.

The hallway phone chose that moment to ring, tearing her from the torment of any further adolescent urges. She stared at it blankly long enough for the machine to pick up, wondering who could possibly be calling so early. Juri was most likely still asleep, having the morning off, and most of Ruki's mother's "friends" had much easier ways of—

" _R-Ruki? It's me._ " She blinked in surprise at the sound of Takato's nervous voice. " _I...heard about what happened. Please tell me you're okay. That you're both okay. I'll be home all morning. Call me back._ "

There was a faint 'beep', and the message was over.

For a long while, she stared at the little blinking light signaling a missed call. She bit her bottom lip in thought, wondering what to do. At oen point, she always considered just picking up the phone and dialing...but, no, what if his parents answered?

They wouldn't hesitate to dismiss her request to speak to Takato, or even hang up on her. Dealing with the Matsudas in public was one thing, where their strong desire to maintain appearances always gave her the upper hand. But over the privacy of a phone call?

Then a thought came to her. An evil thought. One that wouldn't help her situation in the slightest—and, in fact, had a very good chance of making things worse for both herself  _and_ Juri—but, fuck it, she'd had a shitty night and was in the mood for a little fun.

After a good shower, that was. A good, very,  _very_  cold shower.

* * *

"We appreciate your business. Come again soon!"

Mie Matsuda bowed low in respect at the elderly couple as they exited the bakery. They were semi-regulars, coming in as often as twice a week for their usual order. A very handsome duo, the woman was always dressed in her finest kimonos, short hair pulled back with a different flower each time, while the man alternated between formal Eastern and Western clothing. Traditional. Proper.

With a satisfied smile on her face, Mie wiped at a smudge of flower on her cheek before returning to that day's inventory check. Business was good that morning, and already nearly half of her famous melon bread loaves were gone. They were some of her best sellers, popular with patrons of all ages. She made a note on her sheet to bake more that afternoon so as to not risk selling out prematurely.

The front door opened again, announcing the arrival of another customer with a tiny jingle of bells. She quickly placed the clipboard down, smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles in her pastel apron before turning to greet the newcomer with a warm smile.

"Good morning. Welcome to..." but the smile quickly faded when she recognized the figure standing in her parlor, "...oh. It's you."

"And a delightful morning to you as well, Matsuda-san." Ruki greeted the cold reception with an overly-exaggerated cheerfulness, lightly bowing her head in a manner that would normally indicate great respect.

A tense-ridden pause followed, and she silently relished in the look of disapproval in the older woman's face at her appearance. Gone were the usual jeans and t-shirt combination, replaced with baggy, black jeans outline in silver and a black turtleneck tank top. Very little jewelry adorned her person, save for the metal chain belt around her waist, and the only makeup she wore was a touch of black eyeliner. Her hair had been carefully brushed back so that it hung in a high ponytail, bangs swept partially over one eye. A few black, silver, and purple streaks now ran through her normally ruby-red locks, courtesy of a temporary spray she'd picked up at a nearby convenience store.

"It's a wonder your mother even let you out of the house looking like that," Mie commented snidely, turning her nose at the blatant gothic attire. Waving a dismissive hand in the air, she made a point of returning back to her previous task. "You might as well just announce to the world where you're from."

The only thing that kept Ruki from lashing out, physically or otherwise, was the knowledge that it severely annoyed the Matsuda matriarch to have her 'tainting' the sanctity of her precious bakery. It was one thing to be cautious around a Shinjuku resident—many had a reputation for a reason—but Mie took her prejudices to an entirely new level: she genuinely believed her family was  _better_  than them, to the point where Ruki wasn't even worthy of her or her family's time.

The only thing worse was her attitude toward Juri.

 _Your kind isn't welcome here_ , she had said the one and only time the poor girl had dared step inside her boyfriend's home.  _We don't want our son subjected to **that**  kind of lifestyle._

Juri had run out of the place in tears.

Given the degree of protectiveness Ruki often felt toward her childhood friend, she had been sorely tempted to put an end to her relationship with Takato right there and then. But then Takato had surprised her by giving his parents the dirtiest looks she had ever seen before running after Juri. The look alone had made Ruki proud to call him her friend.

The three of them, together, had crashed at Ruki's place over the next couple of days, where Takato reaffirmed exactly what he thought about the whole thing:

 _Mom's right. You shouldn't be around her and dad...because they don't deserve you_.

Ruki was about as far from a romantic as possible, and even she couldn't help feeling a surge or warmth inside, along with a newfound respect for them and their situation. Takato was, as cliché as it sounded, good for Juri. He was kind and sweet on her, as understanding of her life as he was desperate to take her away from it. But, most importantly, he genuinely loved her.

From then on, she made a silent vow to do everything in her power to (a) help her dear friends stayed together, and (b) make his parents absolutely miserable at every given opportunity.

"So, is Takato here this morning?" She asked sweetly, ignoring Mie's blatant attempts at ignoring her.

"No." The response was curt, with no attempt at eye contact. "If you'd like to leave him a message, I'd be happy to deliver it for you."

Even if Ruki hadn't know she was lying—both about Takato being home and the notion she would ever willingly pass any message of hers along—Mie's cool tone made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Resisting the urge to scream, she took a deep breath and switched tactics. The sweet aroma of melon bread was calling to her, and judging by the weight of her pants pocket, she had just enough coins leftover from her weekly allowance for two, maybe three loaves.

"Everything smells delicious today," she commented. "How fresh would you say these are?"

An eyebrow twitched, weighted by the knowledge that this girl was not only refusing to leave, but had just offered a legitimate excuse to linger. Even Mie could not refuse her patronage if her intentions were genuine...and, unfortunately, she knew they were. For all the animosity between them, Ruki would be the first to admit that their bakery sold the finest bread in Tokyo.

For Ruki, it was like a double victory. She could simultaneously piss off her enemy  _and_  score her favorite breakfast.

Before she had time to celebrate, however, the sound of slippers padding down the back stairs drew both their attentions. They turned in time to see Takato reach the last step, staring wide-eyed at Ruki. He froze in place, mouth slightly agape at her unexpected presence in the shop.

"Ruki!" Without warning, he crossed the room and enveloped her in a fierce hug. "You're okay!"

Ruki found herself too caught off-guard to truly enjoy the look of disgust on his mother's face.

"You're not hurt, are you?" His words came at her a mile a minute, as if his brain were finally catching up to the present. He pulled back to inspect her carefully, eyes glossed over in concern. "I didn't hurt you just now, did I?"

"I-I'm okay, Takato. Promise." Having found her voice, she smiled reassuringly at him.

"And...Juri?"

"She's fine, too. They barely touched her."

"What are you two going on about?" Mie chose that moment to step in, all sense of proper decorum lost. Hands on hips, she sent a heated glare in Ruki's direction. "What sort of mess have you lot gotten yourselves into now?"

This time, both Ruki  _and_  Takato ignored her.

"Tell me what happened, Ruki." He insisted. "All of it."

* * *

It had been a long time since Ruki had last been in Takato's room. More than a year, if she remembered correctly. (Not that she had much interest in being there, mind you—that was more Juri's department.) Still, from what little she could discern from those distant memories, she had a strong feeling that things hadn't changed. Much.

His desk, the first thing her eyes were drawn to, was still cluttered with half-full sketchbooks and colored pencils, though an impressive collection of Copic Sketch markers had also taken up residence among his trade tools. More than ten thousand yen's worth, easily. His bookshelves were filled to capacity with popular manga and image books and volumes of reference materials on several top art museums. Rough sketches were taped to every inch of wall behind his bed, subjects ranging from local landmarks to Ruki herself.

 _He's gotten even better_ , she thought with a sad smile as she admired a slightly younger version of herself and Juri portrayed in smudged charcoal.

Tearing herself from the collage of work, Ruki moved to take a seat on the edge of Takato's bed. The boy in question had been eerily silent for several minutes now, sitting backwards in his chair with his eyes unfocused at the ground. A dark aura hovered over him as he struggled internally with everything; out of respect, Ruki had held nothing back, detailing everything from Yamaki's appearance at the bar to her attempted rape. The only facts she altered were the most unbelievable ones, claiming that a 'good samaritan' had stepped in to help her, and leaving it at that.

"Are you okay?" She finally asked, he words slow and careful. She was so used to Takato's optimistic nature, always with an awkward smile or kind word, that to see him staring with so vacant an expression seemed... _wrong_.

Suddenly, Takato slammed both fists into his chair backrest with a surprising intensity. Ruki physically jumped back, startled by the unexpected outburst. But the anger was fleeting, and he soon melted into a heavy sigh of defeat before burying his head in his arms.

"Of course 'm not okay," he mumbled sadly, only partially coherent. "Things...getting worse...'very day."

She said nothing back, experience telling her that it was better to let him get it all out before attempting conversation. His lectures had been increasing in frequency as of late, as she'd had a sinking suspicions that knowledge of the previous night would lead up to another big one.

"Ugh! I feel so helpless!" He sat up, only to slump back like a kicked puppy. "I just can't understand why either of you won't leave. I mean Yamaki's presence there is bad enough...but now I've got to start freaking out over the thought of you getting attacked in your own homes!"

"Attacks can happen anywhere," she pointed out.

"Two attacks in one evening?"

"Statistically—"

"I don't want ot hear about statistics, Ruki." He cut her off, rising to his feet. She followed him with her eyes as he began to pace, but made no sudden more to stop or join him. "That's all you and Juri are to these people. Statistics. Numbers. They don't care that either of you have names of lives or people that love and care about you, who live in fear every single day of you being hurt for the simplest reason that you chose to live in the proverbial  _hell_  of Tok—"

On his tenth pass, she stood and grabbed his shoulders.

"Takato!" She watched him shut his mouth instantly. "You're rambling."

He lowered his head. "Sorry. I just...worry."

"So I've noticed."

This brought a weak smile out of him, and he allowed himself to be gently guided to a seat on his bed. There was a time when the intimacy of the situation would have brought a flush to either of their cheeks, but the severity of the moment overshadowed any potential embarrassment right then.

"Listen," Ruki told him softly, a hand still on his shoulder. They were sitting so close now that her kneels lightly brushed against his. "I don't blame you for wanting the best for Juri. You're the only person I know who loves her more than I do. And I can't even imagine what it must be like on your end, knowing the struggles she goes through every day while not being there when they happen. But you have to trust her. Trust that she's strong enough to make it through."

"I  _do_  trust her," he insisted, though it came out weaker than intended. A heavy sigh followed, eyes falling to a small picture frame on his nightstand. "I just...I just wish things weren't so complicated. That we could go back to the way things were."

"Things have always been complicated, Takato. She was just able to hide it better from you then." Only afterwards did she realize that might have been the wrong thing to say.

Takato said nothing, but his lips pressed tightly together. His normally tanned skin paled by several shades.

Visibly wincing, Ruki started to apologize, but realized it would be futile at that point. Instead, she reached over to pick up the picture that held her friend's gaze to intently.

It had been taken roughly a year ago, and Ruki could tell at once why he would keep it so close. Takato and Juri were smiling widely at the camera, the latter wrapped in the former's arms at the waist, posing with a couple of boys Ruki didn't recognize. All four of them had baseball caps on their heads, the boys wielding bats and gloves while Juri showed off a grass-stained baseball.

"I don't remember this," Ruki commented absently.

"You were sick that day. The flu, remember?"

Ruki grimaced. She  _did_  remember; her mother had spent the entire week bar-hopping in an effort to stay away. Didn't want to risk catching anything. Bad for business.

"Who're these two?" she questioned, taking advantage of change in subject. Her finger motioned to the two unfamiliar boys. "I don't recognize them."

"Friends from school."

"Yours or ours?"

"Technically, both." She gave him a strange look, prompting him to elaborate further: "They were from your area, but I ended up meeting them first. We spent a lot of time at Yoyogi park, playing sports or watching the Sunday performers."

"Strange. I don't remember seeing them around." Ruki's mouth twisted in confusion. "You said they go to our school?"

Takato's expression darkened. "They did. About two weeks after that picture was taken, they were both killed."

"They..." Ruki's eyes widened. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't..." she trailed off, at a loss for anything appropriate to say. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply once before bringing herself to ask: "How?"

"I don't know all the details." Takato shook his head, dry bangs lightly brushing over his eyes with the motion. His room had decent air conditioning, shielding them both from the unforgiving humidity outside. "Never wanted to. But, from what I heard, a group of unknown assailants broke into their apartment during dinner and murdered almost their whole family, cold. The only survivor, a little girl, was beaten and gang raped right into a mental institution."

Ruki's hands flew to her mouth in horror.

"And the worst of it," he continued. "Was that the police never so much as fingered a single suspect. The case was cold within a few weeks' time."

"Typical." Amidst her shock, she was able to spare a few choice words under her breath for Shinjuku's 'finest'. "I can see why you hate Shinjuku." She stated, then immediately regretted how insensitive she must have sounded. "Sorry. That came out wrong."

"It's okay." He met her gaze without a smile. "But do you understand now? Every day, I'm afraid to turn on the news because I might find out some sicko did the same to you and Juri. It almost happened  _last night!_ "

She winced at the forcefulness of his words, though she couldn't blame him. No longer able to counter him, she instead turned once more to the boys in the picture.

Part of her wondered why Takato had never mentioned it to her before. True, there was often more unsaid between them than not (he had yet to ask about her unusual appearance that day). True, there was always the possibility that she would learn of such a tragedy on her own...then again, as Takato would be the first to point out, things like that were frighteningly common in her neighborhood. They news could have simply been buried in a mass of similar stores. Or worse, gone untold due to public apathy.

They looked roughly her age, she decided, though the taller one must've been closer to seventeen or eighteen at the time. Good looking too, and from the smirk he was giving the camera, he probably knew it. A smirk that that practically exuded cockiness, showing off a hint of impossibly perfect teeth...

She looked again.

"What's wrong?" Takato asked, noticing the sudden change in her mood.

She barely heard him, her mind's eye so focused on that single smirk...and what it would look like outlined in black. A mental image began to form, overlaying what she was seeing before her with an all-too-recent memory. That face, coated in white, with black tear-like streaks across the eyes. Piercing eyes that could tell of a murderous bloodlust one second, and the most genuine sympathy the next.

"What...did you say their names were?" She asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"I didn't." Takato raised an eyebrow, but didn't question. "Li Jenrya and Akiyama Ryo. They weren't brothers, but they were about as close as. Why?"

She couldn't tell him. There was no way he'd believe her.

After all, how was she supposed to explain that the 'good samaritan' who saved her life less than twelve hours ago had apparently been dead for nearly a year?

* * *

"Report."

"Dead. Fatally stabbed once in the chest with his own blade."

"What a shame. Do we know why?"

"No, sir. Witnesses are scares, and the police report has more holds in it than a shooting range bulls-eye."

"Was it business-related?"

"Hard to say, but preliminary investigations point towards personal. The neighborhood wasn't in any of your current sectors, and there were high levels of alcohol in his blood. Possibly drugs, though we can't recall him being much of a user before."

"People change, Dolphin. What I want to know is if this particular... _change_  of dear Hirokazu's will affect us in any way?"

"We've already reassigned Kenta to handle his sector, and that Makoto kid'll be bumped up to Front Man in Area 5 in his place. The rest should be a relatively easy cleanup."

"So there  _is_  something that needs cleaning up."

"Well...we're not...sure."

"Explain."

"See, he'd been last seen in the company of that red-head from the Katou bar. You know, the one who—"

"I remember. Your point?"

Silence.

"...ah, I see."

"Should we pay her a visit, boss?"

"That won't be necessary. She is of little use to me...for now, anyways. Regardless of whatever role she played in all this. Hell, I don't care if she's the one who did it."

"We're not out for revenge?"

"Like you said, it was probably a personal thing. We can't be responsible for all our subordinate's fuck-ups."

"You want us to let this slide?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then what?"

"Like you said: it should be a relatively easy cleanup."

"...understood."

* * *

Time was lost to him now, buried under the weight of memories new and old.

Had it been days since his rebirth? Weeks? Hours? He couldn't be sure anymore. Very little light passed through the boarded window cracks, save for the occasional flash of lightning, making it difficult to discern between night and day. The air was heavy with the promise of rain...but, even then, that was nothing new. Shinjuku days often seemed darker than a night beneath the new moon thanks to the perpetual storms.

" _It can't rain all the time, Ryo."_

He could still hear Jenrya's voice in his head, clear as if the younger boy were still sitting right next to him. That knowing look he gave whenever he won an argument, one that said he was right and there was absolutely no use claiming otherwise.

Then again, Jen usually  _was_  right. To near-precognition levels.

* * *

* * *

" _What's with the face?" he called to the figure on the adjacent couch. Too lazy to move, he tilted his head back enough to get a decent (albeit upside-down) view. "You're supposed to be the cheerful one."_

_His dad was working the afternoon shift once again, and with the Li's out shopping in Ueno, that left the two boys alone in the apartment. Normally, one might have questioned the logic in leaving them unsupervised for so long...but it was simply too hot for either of them to so much as dream up any mischief. They couldn't even be bothered to turn the lights back on after the most recent power surge, finding it cooler with them off._

_About twenty seconds passed without a reply before Ryo twisted his body around, partially flopping over the couch armrest so he could keep fanning himself with his paper fan. "Yo! Earth to Jen! You in there?"_

" _Hmm?" Jenrya only just then seemed to realize that someone was speaking to him. "You say something?"_

" _I know it's hot and all, but did your brain seriously melt or something?" Ryo joked._

_Jenrya had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry, man. Guess I was just lost in thought."_

" _What about?"_

_Beads of sweat were beginning to pool on the younger boy's forehead, and he wiped at them lazily with the edge of his sleeve. The small, battery-powered fan quietly humming against his chest was a far cry from decent air conditioning. Sitting up, he traded slouching against the seat cushions for slouching against the backrest. His expression told of fatigue, though Ryo knew him well enough to tell that it was more than just simple heatstroke._

" _There's this guy..." Jenrya began slowly. "He's been coming into the dojo a lot recently. Two, maybe three times in the last week. Something about him just doesn't seem right."_

" _How so?" Ryo's head rolled into his free hand._

_Jenrya hesitated. "It's...hard to put into words exactly. He's been real polite and all, but...I don't know...Dad doesn't seem too happy with him. And neither he nor Mom'll tell me what's going on."_

" _Weird." Ryo frowned. "What's his name?"_

" _Never fully caught it, honestly. And Dad only really said it once that I could hear." His eyes turned to the ceiling. "Yama...something. Yamato? Yamaji? Yamaki—"_

_Just as he spoke that last name, a huge clap of thunder visibly shook the room. Ryo jumped so violently, he fell to the floor. Hard. Whatever he shouted in response was drowned out by the residual rumbling, however, accompanied by a streak of bright lightning. The first few drops of rain followed._

" _I **hate**  August!" He moaned dramatically, sprawling himself on the floor. "Too much rain."_

" _Hey, look on the bright side: it can't rain all the time, can it?"_

_On cue, the skies opened up and a heavy downpour was unleashed just outside the cracked window. Tempted to cry, Ryo grabbed a discarded throw pillow to bury his head under._

" _Tell that to Shinjuku," he muttered darkly._

* * *

* * *

His crow familiar gave a sudden cry, pulling him from his memories in time to see it swoop past. It came to a perch just above the front entranceway, alerting him to the sound of footsteps just beyond. Soft, slow—someone lightweight. Yet, at the same time, significantly heavier than Shuichon's.

And they were heading straight for him.

* * *

The door opened with a rusty creak, the only sound in an otherwise palpable silence.

Ruki could feel the blood pounding in her ears, as if there were some ominous presence watching her ever move. The room before her was a desolate mess of broken wood, glass, and dust. She could just barely make out the faint remnants of chalk outlines on the floor, sending an icy chill down her spin, and she had to look away.

It was dark, but her eyes were used to adjusting. Every step was deliberate, guiding her further inside the empty room. There was no furniture, no signs that anyone had lived there for a long time. The door was left ajar behind her; she saw no reason to close it. For a while, she said nothing, silently scanning every inch of the place as if in search of answers. What she found, however, were more questions.

"I know you're here." A set of charred photographs appeared by her feet. She knelt down to run her fingers lightly over the charred edges, suspicions confirmed by the warmth they still radiated. Straightening her posture, she tried again with more confidence: "You might as well come out."

"What if I don't want to?"

She jumped as the cool baritone came from seemingly nowhere, twirling around to find her mysterious stranger casually sitting atop the kitchen counter. One leg hung over the edge, the other bent at the knee, the latter was being used as a sort of arm rest. His face told of passive amusement, eyebrow raising as he got a better look at her.

"You're the girl from the alleyway." He didn't bother to hide his surprise. "What're you doing here?"

But it was as if Ruki had lost all ability to speak; staring up at him in a near-trance, mouth slightly agape, all traces of previous confidence and words failed her.

He used the lapse in conversation to swiftly hop off the counter, gracefully landing on both feet. Gradually approaching, he gauged her reaction to each step that closed the gap between them—she hardly blinked.

She was pretty, his mind registered for the first time. He hadn't really noticed before, but in the still of the apartment, her bold red hair (inexplicably marred with streaks of black, purple, and silver) and alabaster skin really seemed to enhance her feminine features. A roundish face, deep purple irises, thick lashes, and a delicate nose. Flawless, save for the lines of insomnia marring her eyes.

Eyes that stared at him like he was a ghost...which, to be fair, wasn't that far off.

"How did you find me?" he tried again, switching tactics.

They were just inches apart now. Ruki could practically feel the heat radiating from his body. Gulping loudly, she held up the small piece of paper carefully clutched in her hand: a photograph, and one he remembered all-too-clearly. By his timeline, only a couple of weeks had passed since.

"Where...did you get this?" he asked, voice breaking as he remembered it had been longer than mere weeks.

"F-from Takato." Her response came out a near-whisper. "His girlfriend's been one of my best friends since we were young. He...he told me about you, Ryo."

If Ryo was surprised to hear his name pass from her lips, he didn't show it. His eyes—dark as the makeup surrounding them—focused on the faces in the image. How happy those four kids looked. How he and Jenrya had looked.

Without thinking, he reached out to touch the photo. His hand shook violently, inadvertently brushing against Ruki's in the process.

They both inhaled sharply.

* * *

* * *

" _Who the hell plays baseball during a thunderstorm?"_

_He grinned, lightly tossing the ball into the air. A wooden bat was slung over his shoulder. "What's the matter, Ruki? Afraid of a little water?"_

* * *

* * *

" _You cheated!" She shoved him, trying (in vain) to keep from giggling._

" _And yet, you're smiling." He pointed out the second he'd regained his footing. "And it's not cheating if I'm legitimately better than you."_

" _Ass."_

" _Brat."_

" _Pretty Boy."_

" _Prettier than you."_

_By then, neither of them could hold back their laughter._

* * *

* * *

" _You're amazing, you know that?"_

_She smirked wickedly. "Obviously, Akiyama, if I've put up with you for this long."_

" _I could say the same about you, Makino." He leaned in close, whispering the next sentence directly in her ear. "Though, I'd do it all again in a skipped heartbeat."_

* * *

* * * 

The shock of the images—each fleeting, but no less powerful—caused Ryo to stumble back, accidently dropping the picture in the process. It fluttered to the ground, forgotten. Hands flying to his head, he moaned softly in an effort to ground himself back to the present reality.

"The hell was that?" Ruki gasped, as visibly shaken as he. Her breathing was heavy, body tense as if she'd just been burned.

"I don't...I don't know." He frowned, though it was no directed at her. "You saw them too?"

She nodded, swallowing loudly. "It was like seeing a memory flash before my eyes...only..."

"...it never actually happened."

"It felt so real," she murmured, the sensation still fresh in her mind. "But it couldn't've been. You were there...but you were never there. Like some bizarre sense of deja vu."

"Which is impossible." He pointed out.

"Says the boy who died a year ago."

He opened his mouth to argue, then realized she had a point. And for the second time since his resurrection, he was tempted into a smile.

"This is too much. I think I need to sit down." Slurring her words, Ruki spoke more to herself than him, feeling her legs give in beneath her. She crumbled to the ground in a limp sitting position, paying little heed to the dust or splinters littering the wood around her. The room was starting to spin, and even with her eyes closed, she felt dizzy.

Ryo came to her side, concerned at the sudden greenish tinge her skin was taking on. At the same time, however, he was hesitant to touch her for fear of triggering another wave of...whatever had just happened. Not a memory, that was certain. Or was it? Could he have memories of things that never happened? Was reliving his own death not enough that the universe wanted to further mess with him?

"Are you okay?" He settled on asking. "You're not gonna faint on me or anything, are you?"

It was a testament to her state of mind that she fleetingly contemplated telling him 'yes'.

"What  _are_  you?" She eventually looked up at him.

"Honestly?" He shrugged. His voice was low, as if the subject were difficult for him to talk about. "I have no idea. Everything is as new and confusing to me as it is to you."

"But you...died."

"Technically, yes."

"And now you're... _un_ dead."

He winced at her choice of words. "I really wish you wouldn't put it like that."

"But it's true, isn't it." Most of her normal color had returned to her by then. She sat up a little straighter, looking him directly in the eye. Her tone was neither accusing nor questioning. "I saw you get stabbed and not die. I saw the wound  _heal itself_  in just a few seconds. That's pretty undead to me."

Arms folded across his chest, he resisted the urge to pout. "You're handling this pretty well. Aside from the almost-fainting part, I mean."

"You sound surprised." She made a point of ignoring the 'almost-fainting' crack, not wanting to admit it was true. "How should I be handling it?"

"I don't know. I guess I was expecting more...fear?"

"Do you want me to be afraid of you?"

"No."

She hesitated, the next question coming out much softer: "Should I be?"

"Yes." He looked away.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not natural."

"You could say the same about pretty much all of Shinjuku."

He frowned. "I'm serious."

"So am I." She insisted with surprising certainty. "You're not going to hurt me."

He wasn't sure how to respond to that. An impromptu staring contest ensued, though neither were precisely sure why, and it was Ryo who first looked away. Steadying himself with one hand, he slowly rose to his feet. His gaze alternated between the girl still staring up at him and the glimpses of sky he saw between the cracks of boarded window.

"Why are you here, Ruki?"

The question surprised him as much as it did her. It came out more accusing than he'd intended, but Ruki was only focused on exactly how much influence hearing him say her name could hold over her. He wasn't wrong to ask, either. Why  _had_  she come? What could she have possibly gained by seeking him out? It had seemed like the logical thing to do at the time...but why was that?

Seeing her hesitate, Ryo opened his mouth to speak again.

His eyes glazed over as his familiar called to him. It wanted him to see something. Something important. Turning away, Ryo found his and the crow's visions almost merging in a wave of black and white flashes overlapping with the empty wall of the apartment.

"What is it?" Ruki asked, standing up.

"It's...Juri." His expression grew pained. "She's in trouble."


End file.
